


Worth Fighting For

by Entropyrose



Series: Season of the Devil [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Post Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:13:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank had a secret--- in the form of a little yellow ring that he had bought from some small-time pawn shop during an ammo run, a few weeks after he and Matt had gotten together. He glanced in the case, and there it was--staring back at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Fighting For

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of this fic is set in Daredevil Season 2, (ep 10?) barge scene with slight deviations.

"You're right. Maybe my way isn't working."

Frank recorded the moment in his mind: Matt, clad in his red suit, taking a time-out from pummeling Frank into submission, to cross himself. Frank blinked slowly as he watched him trace his fingers from forehead to chest, then shoulder to shoulder. This guy was for real.

Frank stared in disbelief, mouth parted, dumbfounded. All those values that the vigilante had been preaching to him as he stopped Frank right in his ass-kicking tracks. Matt believed every word. But then he continued.

"Maybe…maybe your way is what it’s going to take.” Matt nodded his head for effect as he crouched in front of Frank. “…yeah. Maybe just this once.”

What Frank was hearing made his mouth drop a little. He swiped his tongue roughly over a split in his lip, his head bobbing up and down as he absorbed what Matt had just said. This man in the leather onesie, the guy who couldn't stop sticking his nose in where it didn't belong,  who rescued helpless murderers from the big, bad Punisher, from their fucking just desserts---Frank jerked his head, searching Matt’s face for an answer that wasn’t there. He  /The kid doesn’t know what he is saying./ “Not just this once.” Frank managed, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, Red. That's...That’s not how it works. You cross over to my side of the line…”

Matt’s head titled slightly, like a school kid trying to grasp a calculus equation. 

“…you don't get to come back from that. Not ever.” Frank saw it, then, for the very first time. He erased all the misconceptions he had about the intruder that kept wrecking his battle plans and dropping un, uninvited and unannounced, and re-wrote the new formula that crouched before him. Matt wasn’t armed with the knowledge of what it meant to kill, how it felt to take another man’s life, what that did to a person. It was in that moment that he realized it:

 Matt was an innocent.

Frank wasn't a spring chicken. He had been around the rosebush a few times, doing some not-so-nice things to some not-so-nice men, and he wanted the people responsible for his family's murders dead. No, not just dead. He hadn't decided yet what was going proper reward---maybe one of those Brazillian neckties where they pull the tongue out through the jaw, or decapitating them with a band saw (or a chainsaw, or a wooden spoon or ladle or whatever would be available). But that was just one stop in the grand tour---they all had to pay. All of them. Murderers, rapists, child abusers, animal abusers, on down the line. Jail was too good for the scum that decided to play God with other people's lives. And Frank was going to deliver their sentences---if it took his bare hands and the rest of his life to do it. 

A court-appointed shrink once stated the obvious and it took all Frank had not to open him up right then and there--"Killing will not bring your family back." Frank had jerked upright, snapping the chains that held him, the crackling noise of metal straining under his hold alarming the shrink. The shrink launched himself out of the cheap wooden chair, and Frank would be lying if he said it didn't give him a laugh when the guy flattened himself to the interrogation room wall, panting like a trapped rabbit. Frank Jr. would have been proud--he had loved watching Daddy scare his sister, sneaking up on her in the hallway, tackling her with tickles till she screamed with delight. 

No, killing the shit-holes that took his family away would never bring them back. It would never heal the bloody wounds, it wouldn't even dull the pain. But he could, at least, hit his head to the pillow at night knowing those pieces of shit could never harm another living being. And that was enough for Frank. 

Innocence--that's what Frank was protecting. It was the only thing left in this pile of trash that was worth fighting for, worth protecting, worth loving. 

When the Mafia pulled up in their long, ugly cars, Matt's head jerked upward towards the sound. Frank knew it was time to act. When Matt stood up and headed for the edge of the boat, Frank bull-rushed him, catching him off-guard. He felt Matt's body twisting in reaction, his gloved fingers , but Frank pushed harder, toppling him face-first into the frigid ocean water below.

He was not going to have Matt sacrificed on his behalf. He was not going to let Matt make the stupid decision of getting involved in the killing. And he was not going to let Matt die--Matt didn't know the boat was rigged to explode and the less he knew, the better. And Frank didn't mind doing the dirty work. 

It was what needed to be done. 

Frank had never thought of having a partner before, but since that night, Matt occupied the majority of his thoughts. He often found himself turning down Matt's street, even though it was a longer way home. He closely monitored the police scanners and read the papers and listened to the convo in the diners under a black duck-billed hat. Daredevil's enemies were the Punisher's enemies, plain and simple. Very few nights went buy that they didn't cross each other's paths. Sometimes Frank was playing sniper while Red took out a few goons, other times it was Red doing the recon and keeping Frank on the choir-boy list. 

Frank had actually started letting some live. Ones that hadn't killed, ones that were mixed up, who needed a second chance. (Frank shook his head as if to clear the thought away---was the pajama'ed bandit really rubbing off on him?) 

There was something that kept him coming back, something keeping him in-check. Frank had only felt like that one other time in his life, and that was with Claire. 

This was before the Affect happened. 

Frank hadn't needed a biological reason to bang Matt. Hell, Frank had been dreaming of that face nearly every night since the Barge incident, just to wake up with his boxer briefs soaked through. He had been working up to it. He would purposely bump Matt's arm, like a school kid, just to see if Matt brushed him off or if he allowed the touch to linger. Often times, Matt simply relaxed into it. 

Emboldened with that slice of intel, Frank tried other things. If Matt needed help walking, Frank would duck his head underneath Matt's arm and help him along, keeping one hand around his narrow hips. His fingertips would press into Matt's boney hip from underneath the leather and make Frank ache. Matt never once complained. Frank had nearly gotten to the point where he thought Matt might actually let him touch him just about anywhere. 

One night, Matt was spread out on Frank's leather sofa, stripped bare as he let Frank sew a large stab-wound that ran dangerously close to the femoral artery. Frank recalled the convulsive quivering of his marred white flesh, and Matt's pained groans as Frank patched him up.  Frank had to bite down on his own tongue, focusing on the pain to keep his mind clean and finish the goddamn job. Within minutes, Matt had passed out from the pain, and Frank dared to join him on the couch, slipping his hips underneath Matt's shoulders and supporting Matt's head with a hand still covered in his blood. /so fucking beautiful./

And then--Frank could barely believe it--Matt was his, the Affect having been the gateway to a life Frank never thought possible. One with Matt, one with a child. Frank's child. Matt had gotten pregnant right at the start. Frank didn't doubt it was in their first night together that they had conceived their son. Eric was now nearing his first birthday, and Frank...

Frank had a secret--- in the form of a little yellow ring that he had bought from some small-time pawn shop during an ammo run, a few weeks after he and Matt had gotten together. He glanced in the case, and there it was--staring back at him. There was nothing special about the golden band; not a stripe or a stone that would flash back at the buyer and declare its significance. It was simply perfect. Frank laid the money on the counter, along with an extra fifty for his ammo. 

Frank would spend over a year with that little yellow ring rolling around in his pocket, always searching for the "right time", whatever that meant. His chance had been blown as soon as Matt confirmed the pregnancy---he didn't want Matt thinking it was a shotgun-wedding type situation. 

So, Matt had the baby, Frank's toothbrush moved into Matt's bathroom, along with his shaving cream and deoderant, and after a brief adjustment period, they returned to their regularly scheduled, skull-busting program (of course this time, involving a call to the baby-sitter beforehand). 

This night was no exception--Matt had caught wind of a sting operation involving ambushing random cops as they sat parked in their patrol cars. They took out the first few with relative ease and without alerting the officers to the danger. It got a little messy when one officer fired back at an assailant, grazing Frank's shoulder with one bullet and hitting the punk square in the chest with another. 

At the end of it there were fourteen arrests and three fatalities, none of which were policemen. Matt and Frank ended their nights with the usual modus operendai--crouching behind a brick wall, bruised and panting, as the cops finished their routine search for the pair. /So much for a thank-you./ Frank was always anxious at the end---ready to go back home and see his baby son, patch up Matt and crash on the couch for some desperately needed sleep. 

Matt looked good, though, and Frank was grateful to have taken the brunt of the hits. Instinctively, he put a hand behind the nape of Matt's neck and gave him a gentle squeeze. Matt flashed him a small smile before blowing out a hard breath and tilting his head back to the cool concrete. 

Frank reached down deep into his pocket, taking inventory on how many weapons he may have lost in the midst of the fighting, and the tips of his fingers touched the smooth, round edges of the little yellow ring. His eyes searched Matt's face, which of course was partially hidden by the red mask. "I love you," he said stupidly. 

He could see Matt's back go rigid and heard the catch in his breath. "What?"

For the first time since Frank could remember, he felt the blood rush to his face. His mouth was still open, waiting for words to formulate in his mind, while he inwardly beat the shit out of himself for saying anything. 

When Frank didn't reply, Matt let out a soft, dismissive laugh. 

His brain finally scrambling to catch up with the rest of him, Frank gathered his courage and repeated, "I love you." He bent a knee, using it as leverage to pull himself closer to Matt. Matt relaxed into the touch. 

"I know," came the soft reply. It was almost a whisper. His mouth hung open amidst quick breaths, as if he wasn't finished. As if there were more to be said. 

Frank scrambled for the ring like a prom date fumbling with a carnation. He reached over Matt and felt for his left hand, again stupidly, as his fingers grasped hold of the metal object and he slid it out of his pocket.  "Here,"  he grunted.

Matt tilted his head, intrigued. "What?" Instinctually, he pulled away a little, his hand stuck in mid-air, just out of Frank's reach. 

Frank meant to sigh but it came out like a growl and he lunged for Matt's hand. To his surprise, instead of pulling away again, Matt relaxed completely, his hand resting limply in the cradle of Frank's touch, his soft laugh filling the moment with confirmed awkwardness. Frank grabbed Matt's glove and pulled, revealing long, white fingers. With the courage of a school-boy, he lined the little metal ring up with Matt's ring finger, eyeing it to ensure he wasn't going to get it stuck or something. He grinned a little upon confirming it was, indeed, the perfect size. He gained a little confidence, even as his heart pounded against his chest, and slid it on. 

Matt balled his fingers, feeling the new smooth object adorning his hand, and looked at Frank with a quizzical frown. "What is this?" 

"It's a ring, idiot," Frank said bluntly, shoving Matt's glove into his lap. "You wear it on your finger." 

"I know that," Matt hissed, indignant. "But Frank. What /is/ this?" 

Oh, holy fucking Jesus, he wanted Frank to say it. He wanted to hear Frank tell him exactly what it was, what it meant, a symbol of Frank's undying love and unending devotion and jesus christ Matt I want you to fucking marry me already and be mine forever and I'll never let anything bad happen to you and I will protect you and god I love you so much that my heart hurts when we're together and it fucking breaks when we're apart--

"Uhm," Frank cleared his throat, but found that his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth, dry as a desert. 

"You're shaking," Matt said, covering Frank's quivering hand with his own. "Frank, are you asking me to...?"

"Just wear the fucking thing, Red. Jesus!"

Another soft laugh. Matt slid his glove back on and made a fist, experimenting with the feel of it under the leather, rotating his hand. 

Frank slumped back against the wall again, defeated. He blew out a hard breath and rubbed his face, kicking himself for having ever thought it of it. Stupid, Frank, /stupid/.

Suddenly, Matt was on all fours in front of him, crawling over to his side like a cat , his hand slipping into the floor space between Frank's legs, pulling himself into Frank. Matt eased himself between Frank's bent, spread legs, his hands trailing up Frank's chest. Frank's breath hitched as he smelled Matt's aftershave and felt his breath against his lips. Matt had this perfectly shaped mouth--two upper humps and a pouty bottom lip that were all-too-inviting. And Frank would know. He had spent many hours studying those lips, those eyes, the dusting of stubble on his chin, the way his eyes twitched a little when he slept...

Matt's lips pressed into Frank's, their scents intermingling. Frank's arms immediately curled around Matt, drawing him in, the creaking sound of leather teasing his ears as they touched. His hand dipped down, his fingers sliding into the small of his back, pressing Matt against his chest. With low groan he covered his mouth with Matt's, capturing his bottom lip, his tongue flicking out over the smooth surface. 

He felt Matt shiver against him, Matt's hands cradling his face. "Yes," he breathed. 

Frank blinked, pausing to catch his breath, his brain scrambling to determine if he had heard Matt right. He focused on Matt's smiling lips that were puffy and pink from Frank's kisses. He dove back into those lips, crushing their mouths together, relishing the stifled moan Matt produced.

There had been nothing right or special about that moment. Only that it was perfect.

And that Matt was his.

 


End file.
